


April 2016

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [4]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Djinnverse (Supernatural), Fluff, Gen, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-17 15:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 11,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14192505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 ficlets for the month of April.





	1. Ninety-Two: Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the blankets are stifling and there’s nothing he wants more than to curl up into a ball and cry himself to sleep but his dad is here and he’s talking and his hand is on dean’s shoulder like it’s supposed to help and he can’t fucking breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small thing. Just. A sad Dean thing.

the blankets are stifling and there’s nothing he wants more than to curl up into a ball and cry himself to sleep but his dad is here and he’s talking and his hand is on dean’s shoulder like it’s supposed to help and he can’t fucking breathe.

“first rule of hunting,” his dad says and dean’s doing everything he can to drown it out, hands over his ears like he’s a little kid again even though he’s been around plenty long enough to be over this. too old for the tears leaking out the corners of his eyes and he hates this. face shoved into the pillow because he’s a coward and he’s hiding and all he can see is the tiny body drained of life and blue at the edges and twisted all out of shape and he can’t. breathe.

digs his fingernails into his scalp and the scratching helps overpower john’s voice but he’s not leaving and he’s still touching dean’s shoulder and it feels like drowning.

“you can’t save everyone.”

words that leak through his attempt to deafen himself to the world and he feels like he’s going to throw up, feels too hot and too close and too much.

he can’t breathe and it’s hard to stay quiet when his dad is still fucking talking. using that soft voice that makes dean feel pathetic, like he’s five years old and can’t handle an easy fucking job.

_can’t save everyone._

the mattress shifts and the heat leaves and “i love you” makes it to his ears before the door closes and he’s finally alone again.

dean comes up for air and chokes on his tears and doesn’t think breathing is worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Ninety-Three: Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corbin’s been fuzzy around the edges for a while, now, but when strong hands close around his neck and force his windpipe shut, Sam can’t really see the other man at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam deserves more time with his mom. Have a soft, angsty thing. Red Meat.

Corbin’s been fuzzy around the edges for a while, now, but when strong hands close around his neck and force his windpipe shut, Sam can’t really see the other man at all. 

He struggles, even though it feels useless- he’s already weak with blood loss, and there’s no telling when Dean will be back. Corbin is fighting for someone he loves and there’s a crazed sort of desperation in his eyes that Sam knows he has no chance of overcoming. Not now; not like this. It’s almost peaceful to let his eyes shut as the last of his energy drains from his body and he goes entirely limp.

It’s not the first time he’s felt close to death, and it’s almost the same as all the other ones.

Almost.

“Oh, baby,” says a soft, feminine voice from behind him, and Sam goes still. He doesn’t know where he is; it’s soft and bright and warm and blurry in a way that doesn’t feel real, and he knows it’s because he’s dying. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He turns around slowly because that voice is an echo of his childhood that he shouldn’t even remember. A sound he’s heard in hallucinations and dreams more than in reality, that fits in the ears of a child and by the time he’s facing her, he’s small, tiny hands and soft, rounded cheeks, the toddler he never really got to be.

His mother is beautiful. She always has been, in their few photos and in Sam’s imagination, and there’s something ethereal about her here, a gentle glow that’s nearly imperceptible surrounded by the rest of this world. Soft blonde curls, and she steps forward, crouches down slowly, a simple pair of pyjama pants and the matching top. Reaches one hand up once they’re at the same eye level and cups Sam’s cheek.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” she tells him gently, but all Sam can do is stare, eyes a little wide as he leans into her hand, seeking out the warmth and comfort instinctively. “Sammy, what happened?”

“Mom,” he whispers instead, because he only sees her in dreams these days and this feels so much more real.

She smiles, just a little bit, a quirk of the lips that reminds him of his brother, and her fingers card through his hair, brushing it up out of his eyes. “You’re not going to have much time when you wake up,” she says. “You’ll have to move fast, and you’ll have to be strong. I know it hurts, and I know it’ll be hard, but you have to try. Can you be strong for me, sweetheart?”

And Sam nods, because how could he not? There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow past and all he can think about is how this is probably the longest conversation they’ve ever had.

“Good boy.” Her eyes go soft, and her thumb brushes his cheek, tender. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until then, tears slipping free and catching on her hand. “You need to know that I’m so proud of you, Sam. More than you can imagine. So proud of the way my little boy has grown up. Remember that, okay? No matter what happens?”

She’s starting to fade, and Sam feels himself getting tugged back. Feels the crippling pain returning to his body as edges get sharp again and the distant rumble of an engine gets closer and louder. “I will,” he whispers anyways, the image slipping through his fingers like loose sand. “I- I love you.”

He’s never known her, not really. But it’s never felt more true than right now.

One last smile, and Sam feels a pair of lips at his forehead, an echo of the way things could have been. “I love you, too, Sam,” she says softly. “Be strong for me, baby.”

Everything comes back into reality with a gasp of air and a flood of sensation, and the words ring in the back of his mind.

_Be strong._

Sam pulls himself together and forces himself up and makes a plan. The truck is getting closer and he has work to do.

He’s going to make her proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Ninety-Four: Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How would you feel if Jared died?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was after something that happened at a con. I hadn't heard the full context or anything and just got kind of ._. after hearing stuff that happened, and now I'm kind of like... oh, well. Angsty J2, I guess.

_“How would you feel-”_

He rubs at his forehead, tries to get the image out of his mind. Tries to stop the words from ringing, tries to pick them out from under his skin where they’ve made themselves at home. It doesn’t seem to be much use, already circulating through him, weaving into his bloodstream. He’s been here before and the panic spiral just gets worse the harder he tries to escape it.

_“-if Jared died?”_

He can only be thankful that it wasn’t a  _when._

It’s been hours, and Jensen still feels out of sorts. Still tastes the plastic smile he’d pasted on, the hasty redirect to Sam and Dean. The hotel room doesn’t offer much of a sanctuary from the detached, sick feeling that’s dug its way into his chest, and the quiet after the flurry of signings and photos is stifling, leaves him to nothing but the horrible images that keep pervading his mind.

They aren’t real. Of course they aren’t; Jared’s never been hurt in any of the ways he’s imagining. It doesn’t stop the stream, though, and he takes a shaky breath. Figures he couldn’t have been closer to the truth with his answer earlier that day; Dean doesn’t know how to live without his brother, and Jensen’s been caught up all day thinking about the potentiality of Jared being taken away from him. He’s not sure he can tell where his feelings end and Dean’s begin. The line between them is always thinnest in these moments.

Jared doesn’t knock.

“Hey,” he says softly, and Jensen rubs at his eyes before looking up. He doesn’t know what time it is, but the sun’s long gone down and his eyelids are too heavy to still be awake. “You okay?”

And he just sighs, because how is he supposed to respond to that? “I guess.”

He hears Jared cross the room, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits down beside Jensen. A moment of quiet and then there’s an arm around his shoulders, tucking him into Jared’s side where it’s warm and quiet, his own anxieties soothed for the moment right along with Dean’s. It’s nice that they both have the same weakness in this regard. “I’m right here, y’know. I’m okay.”

“I know you are.” Jensen just rests his head on his friend’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Solid and real and most definitely alive. “Shouldn’t let it get to me.”

“But it did, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to… get scared about stuff, Jen.” Jared gives him a gentle squeeze, talks a little lower. “I’m in this for the long haul, okay? I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not anytime soon.”

There’s an eventuality there that Jensen decides to ignore. He’s too tired to think about the limited time any given person has in this life. “You’d better not. I’d kick your ass if you checked out early.”

“Yeah.” A soft laugh, and it smooths something over, makes it a little easier for Jensen to relax and think about maybe going to bed. “I know.”

They’re quiet, then, inside and out, and Jensen breathes in deep. They’re here right now, and that’s what they’ve got to think about. Leave the dying to Sam and Dean for now, because they seem to have a handle on fixing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. Ninety-Five: Spots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why d’you got spots, De?” Sammy asks him with the utmost sincerity, blinking big hazel eyes up from where he’s sprawled out across Dean’s lap. Four years old and he’s all questions, endless inquiries about how the world works and why and when and for how long. Daddy says it’s just part of growing up and that Dean used to ask just as much stuff, but Dean finds that kind of hard to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a cute thing. A baby thing. With babies. Being cute and stuff.

“Why d’you got spots, De?” Sammy asks him with the utmost sincerity, blinking big hazel eyes up from where he’s sprawled out across Dean’s lap. Four years old and he’s all questions, endless inquiries about how the world works and why and when and for how long. Daddy says it’s just part of growing up and that Dean used to ask just as much stuff, but Dean finds that kind of hard to believe.

“What?” Dean wrinkles his nose a little, tries to look at it and goes cross-eyed. Sammy giggles, reaches out to brush soft baby fingers against his cheeks. “I don’t got any spots.”

“Yeah, you do!” Sammy squints a little, then plants one fingertip firmly on Dean’s nose. “Right here!”

Dean furrows his brow and knocks Sammy’s hand away gently before he realizes what his brother is talking about. “Freckles, Sammy. They’re called freckles. Not spots.”

Sammy blows right by that. “Why d’you got ‘em?”

And that takes a little longer to answer. He hasn’t thought about this in a long time. Hasn’t heard it since the fire and it’s made him sad since then. Looks down at Sammy in his lap and finds his brother’s hands to hold, gentle in between both of his. 

“Momma always said they were- were angel kisses.” Snuffles quietly and can’t meet Sammy’s eyes. “An’- an’ that they were keepin’ us safe. Watchin’ us.”

Sammy gets quiet. They never talk about their momma anymore. Never have. 

Neither of them say anything for a couple minutes, and Dean tries to take comfort in the soft hands he’s got caught within his own. Sammy’s the one to break the silence, soft and tentative. 

“I think they’re pretty, De.”

Dean smiles kind of sadly and nods. Whispers. “Momma had ‘em, too. She was the prettiest ever.”

Sammy gives him a hug when he starts to cry. Neither of them say a word about it to their dad, and Dean’s eyes linger a little longer next time he looks in the mirror.

He kind of looks like her, he thinks. It’s almost comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Ninety-Six: One More Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean loses track of time on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny thing. No particular setting. Dean stuff.

Dean loses track of time on the road. Without someone sitting in shotgun, hours slip between his fingers like loose sand, left scattered along a thousand highways that pump life into a million tiny communities across the country. They’re no more than scrapped photographs in his memory as each and every one blurs into the last. A run-down motel, a monster, a person he isn’t quick enough to save. A hollow ache in his chest for what he used to have.

He drifts between jobs because they’re the only anchor he has anymore. A purpose and a direction for what is slowly becoming a meaningless existence-  _one more job_ and he keeps telling himself that this will be the end.

It never really is, because five months later and his heart’s still beating and it shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be alive like this and he isn’t sure he wants to be, but there’s a werewolf in Maine that’s causing trouble and he isn’t going to let it hurt anyone else.

One more job. Just one more job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Ninety-Seven: Threes

Sam can still hear his brother laughing, throwing him a playful wink and  _“third time’s the charm, Sammy”_  when he strikes out twice before he finds the right lead to follow or a half-decent meal or a girl to take him home. Dean lives his life in lucky threes, in dancing past the bad with the knowledge of something good on the horizon.

For the first time, Sam wishes Dean’s life didn’t play by triplets.

It was the rawhead, first. The stupid electrocution that fried his heart. The faith healer that Sam tracked down and the life he traded for his brother’s.

Second was the eighteen-wheeler that t-boned the Impala and left Dean clinging to life by the tips of his fingers. The time Sam wasn’t good enough and their father died in Dean’s place.

Twice Dean has come face-to-face with death, and twice, his life has been spared as another’s is taken in his place. Some would call him lucky; Dean himself has always considered himself unworthy.

But the third time- the third time his number’s up and Sam would give anything to take his brother’s place.

Third time’s the charm, though, and he gets to watch Dean be torn apart while he can’t so much as lift a finger to help, instead, and suddenly he’s a child again, left alone with Dean’s ruined, bloody corpse and feeling like someone has stolen his lungs as his body rebels against the slippery crimson staining his fingers, a sob choked out of him as he pulls his brother into his arms.

Sam’s fingers shake when he reaches up to cup Dean’s cheek, but he only succeeds in smearing more blood between cinnamon-spot freckles that he remembers trying to count and that’s when he breaks.

Third time’s the fucking charm and when Sam buries his face in Dean’s shoulder and cries, there’s no comforting heartbeat to tell him things will be okay.


	7. Ninety-Eight: Used

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess has been in the ground for a fortnight and Sam’s balls-deep inside his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sad thing. Some unrequited Wincest maybe.

Jess has been in the ground for a fortnight and Sam’s balls-deep inside his brother. It’s supposed to make things better, crawling into bed with Dean like he’s a little kid again but it just turns into a stuttered echo of what they used to have; a pair of tattered souls seeking comfort in each other. But it’s tainted; he’s fallen in love with soft, feminine curves, with smooth skin and everything that Dean isn’t. He’s hurting and he’s lonely and he knows this isn’t okay. He knows.

Dean needs Sam and Sam needs Jess and Sam is using his big brother in the worst way possible and they both know it. 

He doesn’t pull away because it’s easier to close his eyes and pretend it’s his dead girlfriend underneath him and like his entire life hasn’t been burned to the ground. It’s easier to pretend that he’s back at home in Palo Alto and like he can’t smell the stink of old cigarettes and booze, like the body underneath him smells less like gunpowder-leather and more like vanilla-eucalyptus. To pretend like maybe things are okay.

Dean stays quiet except for the grunts forced out of him with Sam’s rough movements, rougher than he ever was with Jess. Sam buries his face in his brother’s shoulder and whimpers out her name and Dean doesn’t say a word.

Things are about as far as they could possibly be from “okay,” but if there’s one thing that Sam remembers about his family, it’s that they’re better off not talking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. Ninety-Nine: Scattered Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when it’s quiet and he closes his eyes, Dean can see flickers of the time Before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by a quote from Kingdom Hearts: "a scattered dream that's like a far-off memory... a far-off memory that's like a scattered dream... I want to pick the pieces up. Yours and mine." Part of an AU that I was just calling "sp au" and. Yeah. Angst. Dean.

Sometimes, when it’s quiet and he closes his eyes, Dean can see flickers of the time Before.

Things were better, then. They were messy and dangerous and moment-to-moment, but they were  _better._ There was him and there was his little brother

_(you don’t have a brother, Dean)_

and there was the open road as far as the eye could see, all of America theirs for the taking. It wasn’t perfect, but at least he always had someone riding shotgun.

The monsters sneak into his memories too, sometimes. Dark, horrible things with claws and teeth. Who wear human skins and blend in with everyone else. Dean thinks they’re the scariest of them all.

_(monsters aren’t real, Dean, they’re all in your imagination, you need to calm down-)_

Even now, he never knows who he can trust. He’d carry silver if they let him, maybe iron or salt, but-

-well. They don’t let him anymore.

Above all else, though, he wishes he could figure out what happened to Sammy. Remembers laughing together, hunting together, a whole lifetime’s worth of memories scattered across half-forgotten dreams, slipping through his fingers every time he opens his eyes. 

He almost kills an orderly the first time they tell him Sam doesn’t exist.

They’ll believe him one day. His parents haven’t visited in weeks and his father won’t look at him anymore, not with the way he makes his mother cry. But they’ll listen, too. They have to. 

He needs to get out of here, and he needs to find out what happened to Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. One-Hundred: Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How are you feeling today, sweetheart?” she asks, soft like he’s going to break, and Dean hates it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the AU from yesterday.

“How are you feeling today, sweetheart?” she asks, soft like he’s going to break, and Dean hates it.

He wants to tell his mom that he’s strong. That he’s a hero and that he’s fought things beyond her most terrible nightmares. That she shouldn’t even be alive, really; not after the demon burned her up on the ceiling of Sammy’s nursery.

She always looks hurt when he mentions Sammy, though, so he doesn’t.

“Fine,” he replies instead. They’re outside today, and Dean can’t sit still, restless as his eyes dart around. Counting exits and escape routes and potential weapons, which are unfortunately few and far between. He’s been here long enough that they know how he operates. “S’dad alright?”

“He’s worried about you.” And she rests her hand on his knee carefully, and it has Dean going still, like all his energy’s been focused into that one point. “Dean… are you still having them? Your… your dreams?”

They’re not  _dreams._

“Ever heard of a wendigo?” Wets his lips and keeps his eyes on the ground because he doesn’t want to see how she reacts. “Gotta get it with fire, Mom. S’the only way to kill it.”

His mom exhales slowly and she pulls her hand away.

Maybe it’s better for her to stay away from him. She’ll be safer.

People around Dean tend to get hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. One-Hundred One: Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of that AU from the past couple days. I don't really have a good explanation for this. 
> 
> Um. Violence. There's some violence.

Dean dreams, sometimes.

Not the way his parents and the doctors think. He knows where his reality ends and the dreams begin, because everything his mind comes up with on its own is a little twisted and a little backwards and every time he wakes up he digs his fingernails into his arms and curls up in a ball and stares at the wall against his bed, whispers that it isn’t real, isn’t real,  _isn’t real,_ because he’s petrified of turning his head and seeing a monster.

The monsters of his nightmares are faceless and absent, whispers in the corners of his mind, the tickle of breath at the back of his neck. He can’t remember how to close his eyes.

It’s his mother screaming, first- running through air that’s molasses-thick as he tries to get to her. Gets the fraction of a second to read the terror in her eyes when he stumbles into the bedroom, but then she’s burning, scent of charred flesh flooding his nose and sticking to the back of his throat. 

The screaming doesn’t stop, even when the fire’s gone and all he can see is blood, hot and sticky and not his not his  _he didn’t mean to_ that drips from his hands, runs thick between his fingers and he can taste it at the back of his tongue and he’s gagging, he’s deaf, he can’t see anything but the bruises he’s painting into his brother’s skin and Sammy’s so fucking  _small_ -

These are the dreams he keeps to himself. Everyone thinks he’s unstable enough without Dean offering them the cherry on top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. One-Hundred Two: Puppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How could one place,” Dean mutters, straddling the line between disbelief and amazement as he watches the scene in front of him, “have so many goddamn puppies?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just silly and soft. 101 Dalmatians led me here. Besides, Sam + puppies is a forever mood.

“How could one place,” Dean mutters, straddling the line between disbelief and amazement as he watches the scene in front of him, “have so many goddamn puppies?”

It’s far from their usual case, and by now, he’s pretty much convinced that it isn’t really their kind of thing at all. With so many local pets gone missing and a slow day on the supernatural front, they’d headed into town to check it out, anyways, and as it turns out, it’s more of an illegal breeding ring, stealing dogs to breed more dogs and so on and so forth. 

They’re just lucky enough to have stumbled upon it and dealt with the guys behind it right in time for puppy season.

Sam looks like he’s died and gone to heaven, long legs sprawled out on the floor in front of him as dozens of tiny baby dogs crawl all over him, tiny yips and squeaks filling the room as he stares at them all, wide-eyed. Two of them can fit in each of his massive hands, several are trying to climb up his chest to sit on his shoulders, and one proud little dalmatian is sitting right on top of his head, so young its spots haven’t even come in.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, like he’s afraid of startling the puppies that swarm him in search of affection, “can we take them home?”

Dean’s pretty sure the bunker would be significantly dirtier with several dozen dogs living there, but as a tiny German Shepard tries to climb up the leg of his jeans, prompting him to bend down and scoop the poor baby into his hands to hold properly, the word “no” dies a slow death on the tip of his tongue and never sees the light of day.

“We’re gonna find them other homes,” he warns, but Sam’s already lit up like a Christmas tree and proceeds to gather as many puppies as he possibly can into his arms to hug. “You’d better not name them all.”

As Sam speaks to the dogs in low, excited tones and Dean holds onto his new little friend, he’s pretty sure his brother’s already gone and done exactly that. He can’t bring himself to be all that upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. One-Hundred Three: Sing Me To Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sing me to sleep,” she croons, low and soft. “Sing me to sleep. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specifically, the Emily Browning cover of this song (from Sucker Punch) was stuck in my head. Mary and baby Dean.

“Sing me to sleep,” she croons, low and soft. “Sing me to sleep. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”

Dean’s eyes are already drooping, pretty green hidden by soft eyelashes, fingers curled loosely in the front of Mary’s nightgown. He’s safe in her arms, and she holds him close, rocking back and forth to lull him to sleep. Hardly a year old and prepared to take on the world, all tuckered out with their day at the park.

“Sing me to sleep. Sing me to sleep, and then leave me alone.”

He’s her entire world in a tiny, fragile body, and Mary holds him a little tighter. He always sleeps best like this, curled close against her chest while she sings to him, and if she had her way, she would never have to put him down.

“Don’t try to wake me in the morning, ‘cause I will be gone…”

As long as she can give him his life- his childhood and his happiness and his safety, tucked away from the horrors that stay hidden in the darkest corners of her mind- she thinks that maybe he’ll be okay.

“Don’t feel bad for me, I want you to know…”

Hell, maybe she’ll be okay, too.

“Deep in the cell of my heart, I really want to go…”

Dean’s eyes are closed, wispy blond hair and cinnamon-dusted cheeks. Soft and safe and hers, and Mary has to close her eyes as she whispers out the last couple lines.

“Sing me to sleep. Sing me to sleep…”

It’s one of the nights she doesn’t let him go. John never questions why she’s so clingy with their son, and quietly curls around her back or at Dean’s other side.

She’ll keep him safe. He’ll grow up happy, far away from and ignorant of the monsters in the world. She doesn’t know another way to be anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. One-Hundred Four: Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Small, but healthy_ , they tell her, and it’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sprung from a conversation/headcanon thing about Dean being a small baby. Itty-bitty. 
> 
> I just. I love Mary so much. So, so, SO MUCH.

_Small, but healthy_ , they tell her, and it’s all that matters.

Five pounds, two ounces, seventeen inches long from head to toe, wrapped up in a standard-issue baby-blue hospital blanket. 

Tiny fists that will never be used to harm, gently curled fingers that will never shoot a gun. Hands that will never take a life, and blood that will never be shed trying to save that of another.

Pale blue eyes that will never see the true horrors of the world, and soft skin those horrors will never dare to mar. A heartbeat that pitter-patters under her fingertips, and Mary thinks she’s going to cry.

Her little baby boy is perfect, asleep and beautiful and  _perfect,_ and he’s everything she never got a chance to be.

“Dean,” she whispers, for her mother who was stolen away by a creature of Hell. John watches, quiet, misty-eyed by the bed. “My precious little angel.”

Her hopes and dreams and entire future are all bundled up inside this little boy, this baby in her arms. He’s become her entire world in the blink of an eye and it’s like she never knew another way to be.

“I’ll keep you safe,” she tells him, and she’s crying, too, a single teardrop that lands on Dean’s cheek. Crystallized emotion until it slips down, leaving a fine trail in its path. “I’m here, baby. I’ll protect you.”

Mary won’t let her son go through the Hell she’s experienced in her life, the fear and the instability and the loss. Not as long as she lives and breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. One-Hundred Five: Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s six feet tall of grew-up-too-fast, of length he’s yet to fill in and of anger beyond his years. Trembling that speaks of everything he’s holding back, everything that John knows is on its way to the tip of Sam’s tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Sam. I'm upset about them always.

He’s six feet tall of grew-up-too-fast, of length he’s yet to fill in and of anger beyond his years. Trembling that speaks of everything he’s holding back, everything that John knows is on its way to the tip of Sam’s tongue.

He wonders what he’s done to deserve this and decides it’s the most suitable punishment the universe could’ve possibly doled out.

He can still feel the weight of his youngest son in his arms, a happy baby boy who only knew a home for six months. The one who’d looked up at him with unconditional trust and love, who’d fallen asleep in his arms more easily than anywhere else. Soft fingers and big eyes and untouched innocence under his protection.

John looks at the young man standing across from him, fierce and independent, who knows every gun in their arsenal inside-out, who can drop a charging werewolf just as quick as his brother. Sam who’s grown out of being John’s son, and who John doesn’t know how to hang onto anymore.

Instead of trying, he stands up a little straighter and looks his little boy in the eye and tells him to stay gone.

“If you walk out that door, Sam, don’t you dare come back.”

If Sam’s going to get out- if he’s going to walk away from hunting and the dangerous lives they live- if he’s going to try to make something for himself…

John would rather he stay there.

Sam looks like he’s been slapped for a fraction of a second before his face hardens and he turns away. Dean chases him and John doesn’t interfere.

He knows that his boy is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. One-Hundred Six: Dream World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she’s humming something a tune dean knows he should be able to place. the same one that lives with all his other memories of childhood, weaves its way between nightmares and restless nights. hard times and quiet moments; a constant comfort.
> 
> dean don’t really feel up to comfort right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some kind of djinnverse thing... wherein the djinn world is the real world and Dean dreams of his other life. Mention of MCD.

she’s humming something a tune dean knows he should be able to place. the same one that lives with all his other memories of childhood, weaves its way between nightmares and restless nights. hard times and quiet moments; a constant comfort.

dean don’t really feel up to comfort right now.

“at least it was peaceful,” she tells him as if it’s supposed to make everything better. he don’t know how she’s saying it; he’s heard her crying at night when she thinks he can’t hear her. “there was nothing we could have done, baby.”

he knows his mother is just trying to help. she means well and he wants to appreciate it. wants to paste a smile on his face and tell her he’s going to be okay. that he just needs some time to process this loss.

no one sam’s age should have to worry about a heart attack.

“how’s jess?” he asks instead. works up the ambition to pretend he’s concerned. that place in his chest just feels hollow now, scraped out with a rusty knife after it made its stop in his brother’s chest. “she doin’ okay?”

“she’s…” a quiet moment and dean waits. “…she’s still here.” 

probably more than dean can say for himself.

it shouldn’t cut this deep. he and sam have never gotten along the way brothers are supposed to. it shouldn’t feel like his nerves have shorted out and left him numb to the remaining shades of grey he sees in the world.

but he can’t help thinking about those nightmares. about hunting monsters and demons, a brother who was  _his_ in every sense of the word. someone he relied on, someone he took care of, someone he trusted.

someone he loved.

he must’ve been quiet for too long, because the weight on his mattress shifts as mary stands up, hovering quietly for a moment. “i’m here if you need me,” she says, and then she’s gone. off to deal with her own grief however she sees fit.

dean curls his fingers loosely in his sheets and thinks about the smile he’s seen in his dreams. the one he never really earned for himself.

he sleeps, and he dreams.

sam is alive here and things are almost okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. One-Hundred Seven: Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean always knew she’d be pretty in red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Djinnverse with a dark!Dean. Serial killer thing.

Dean always knew she’d be pretty in red.

She isn’t bleeding anymore, so Dean cuts his own palm to paint a swath of red across her lips. She’s lost so much colour, but the pallor of her skin has her glowing in that special way he knows no one else can see or understand.

He made sure it was perfect this time. No fire to mar her flawless skin or to char gentle blonde curls. Careful flicks of his wrist, precise cuts. A surgeon’s confidence, and an artist’s vision.

Above all else, he makes sure she doesn’t suffer alone. Can’t imagine the fear and loneliness and doesn’t want to have to; he pets her hair and tells her how important she is, how soft and beautiful and pure. Even with the tears in her eyes. Even with the screams tearing her throat raw.

She’s his pretty porcelain doll, quiet and still. Painted red in every shade of life even and clinging to the silent beauty that lingers after death.

She is Dean’s, just as he has always been hers.

Green eyes that match his own have gone glassy, and he smiles as he rests his cheek on her chest, absent of breath and pulse. It’s peaceful in the way only death can be, and he feels like it’s the only salvation he’s ever needed.

He is living a fantasy world, and he intends to see it through its end.

“I love you, Mom,” he whispers, and the still air is the comfort he seeks. Someone is shouting, distantly, pounding on the door, and Dean hums to himself, a tune he learned from his mother.

Sam is going to have to wait his turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. One-Hundred Eight: Alabaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like everything between them, this has become a game. Sam tries to bite his tongue and stay quiet and Dean’s only allowed to use his mouth. it’s cheating when he pins his brother’s hips to the bed with hands splayed wide across his tiny waist, but neither of them complain and they both know Dean is going to win, regardless.
> 
> Dean always wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weecest. A little bit explicit, definitely underage. The word for the day was "alabaster", but I kind of forgot about that by the time I was finished writing this.

Sam’s skin is soft under his lips, and Dean thinks he could drown in it.

His little brother’s barely crested past the beginning stages of puberty, still round with baby fat, soft and hairless from the neck down. He’s moonlit alabaster, shivering and releasing little whimpers with every brush of Dean’s tongue.

Like everything between them, this has become a game. Sam tries to bite his tongue and stay quiet and Dean’s only allowed to use his mouth. it’s cheating when he pins his brother’s hips to the bed with hands splayed wide across his tiny waist, but neither of them complain and they both know Dean is going to win, regardless.

Dean always wins.

He moves down from where he’s been lingering at Sam’s nipples and dips his tongue into the navel, swirling it just to watch Sam squirm. Slants his eyes up for a glance at his brother’s face and can’t help but smile; he loves the taste of blood on those pouty lips and with how hard Sam seems to be biting down, Dean’s in for a treat when they finish up.

“How you doin’, buddy?” Dean murmurs like they’re doing laps, words lost among Sam’s heaving breaths. “Still with me?”

Sam nods tightly but keeps his mouth shut; he learned pretty early on that verbal responses count as a loss. The effort seems futile, though, because Dean nips at the dip in his belly button and he whines, unrestrained. Dean grins and laves his tongue over the spot before sitting up on his elbows, looking down at Sam underneath him while he tries to control himself.

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he murmurs once his brother’s caught his breath. “Can I claim my prize?”

His answer is Sam leaning up to meet him halfway, lips pressed together in a kiss that tastes like copper and apple juice. He laps the taste up eagerly and can’t stop smiling.

Maybe the game is a little rigged, but Dean’s pretty sure there isn’t a real loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. One-Hundred Nine: Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s no way you’ve never had a snowball fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destiel thing. College AU? And the prompt was "snow".

“No way. You’re fucking with me.” Dean squints like it’ll force Castiel to tell him the truth, but the older student doesn’t budge. They’re walking together, taking it easy between classes while Dean learns his way around campus properly. Cas might not give the most riveting tours, but he has a sense of direction and tends to be funny without meaning to. “There’s no way you’ve never had a snowball fight.”

His answer is a raised eyebrow. It’s been snowing for days, now, and even getting around has become a bit of a mission. The air is crisp and clean, and the damp powder that blankets the world is ripe for the picking. “I assure you, Dean, that I am not…  _fucking_  with you. My older brothers have spent enough time tormenting each other with them that it never occurred to me to want to have frozen water hurled in my direction.”

“Now you’re just making it sound mean,” Dean huffs, and abruptly stops walking. “Besides, it’s not like we’re throwing ice. S'not gonna hurt unless you get pegged in the face or something, and even that’s just to wake you up.”

“What are you doing?”

Dean can’t say that he cares enough about his jeans not them wet, and it’s got him crouching down, bare fingers digging into the snow and starting to pack it together. “Showing you how it’s done. C'mon, it’s fun. At least it is with me. Sammy always cheats.”

He’s too distracted grumbling about little brothers and unfair hiding spots to notice Castiel who’s continued to walk, and releases a put-upon sigh. “Yeah, alright,” he mutters to the retreating back of the older student’s jacket. “You asked for it.”

There’s something supremely satisfying about hitting his friend square between the shoulder blades with a perfectly constructed snowball- nothing years of practice can’t accomplish- and the way Castiel stops dead in his tracks has Dean laughing,doubling over at the apparent shock. “Oh my god,” he manages, breath puffing out white between his lips, “I just wish I could have seen your-”

A mouthful of snow shuts him up and throws him off-balance, and Dean lands on his ass with an “oomph.” It takes him a few seconds to connect the slowly-melting snow on his face to the way Castiel is watching him and casually wiping his hands on the arms of his jacket, but then it’s  _on_.

“Oh, you asked for it, you son of a bitch!” The laugher is still in Dean’s voice when he scrambles to his feet, and then it’s all-out war.

It’ll be much easier to talk Cas into cutting his evening lecture if they’re both cold and wet and already curled up on the couch. Mission accomplished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. One-Hundred Ten: Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Mary, there was Carmen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the dark/serial killer!Dean djinnverse thing.

Before Mary, there was Carmen.

She’s beautiful. Of course she is; this is supposed to be a fantasy world, and Dean has always been a man of the flesh. She gives into him easily, allows him to press her down into the mattress after his mother’s birthday celebration. Sam’s disgust and confusion sit heavy at the back of his throat and it’s all he’d needed, the only element that didn’t sit right, and now he  _wants._

She’s soft, all gentle curves and warm eyes. A woman he might’ve loved in another life, but not like this. Not when he’s been displaced from his own reality, when Sam lingers behind somewhere on his own.

“Are you scared of me?” he whispers against the curve of her throat, relishing in the shiver that travels through her body. Imagines he can lick it off her skin to make up for the blood he won’t spill tonight.

She whispers  _“no”_  like it’s the right answer, like  _“‘course not, baby”_ is what he wants to hear. 

Dean misses his world. Misses his brother, the one who didn’t wear a sports jacket; the one who would smile with arterial spray on his face and fuck Dean against the nearest flat surface. The one he loved. The one he’s killed for. The one he would die for.

Carmen looks a little bit like Sam, and maybe if he closes his eyes, he can pretend she feels like Sam, too. Carman is pretty, and Carmen is not scared. Carmen doesn’t know any better than to be soft and warm and vulnerable because Carmen doesn’t know  _him._

So Dean smiles, and Dean rests a hand on her throat, and Dean teaches her.

“You should be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. One-Hundred Eleven: Convenient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean figures he should feel worse than he does about thinking of his little brother as _convenient._
> 
> That’s how it started, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just sin. Dirty, dirty sin.
> 
> Wincest. Weecest, I guess. Smut.

Dean figures he should feel worse than he does about thinking of his little brother as  _convenient._

That’s how it started, anyways.

Life on the road is hard. With no roots in the ground and no real relationships outside of his family, Dean’s lonely. He’s a young man with no real friends and even fewer more-than relationships to speak of, and it takes its toll.

In hindsight, he can never really decide what the turning point was. If it was Sam’s growth spurt that left him lanky and beautiful, if his brother had started looking at him with those fuming doe-eyes on purpose, if he’d been a little more shameless changing while they were in the same room. Maybe Dean had just been too damn lonely for too damn long, and he’d turned to his closest source of comfort: little Sammy.

Granted, “comfort” might not be a strong enough word for what he’d sought out.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” Dean breathes into his brother’s ear. Sam’s pinned underneath him, ass-up, panting like a bitch in heat. They’re alone- alone too often, really; John knows that Dean would never do anything to endanger his darling little brother- and the room is too hot; a shitty A/C unit leaving them sweating, the pair of them already dressed down to their boxers. Made it too easy when Dean had gotten his brother in bed and stripped him down, managed enough sloppy prep to get inside him. “Fuckin’ teasing me all the time, showing yourself off like-” Stops to grunt as he jabs his hips forward, buries himself a little deeper. It earns a whine from Sam, and Dean nips at the shell of his ear. “Like some desperate little slut.”

Sam’s response to that is to arch up against him, pressing his hips back into Dean, and Dean hisses as he’s forced in right to the root. When he speaks, it’s almost inaudible, and a little smug, and Dean comes to the conclusion that the boy underneath him is too young to be such a master of manipulation. “Just for you, big brother.”

So Dean growls and grips skinny hips bruisingly tight and sets an unforgiving pace, the slapping of flesh on flesh filling the air. It’s addictive, the way Sam moans for him, the way he claws at the bedsheets and whines and begs, pleads Dean to  _“fuck me harder, big brother,”_  and the title makes Dean feel like the dirtiest scum to even live and turns him on more than he ever could’ve imagined.

When Dean comes, it’s with his teeth buried in Sam’s shoulder and his dick as deep as he can get, marking his little brother in every way he knows how, like this is something he’s allowed to do. Like it’s something he’s  _proud_  of; like he won’t be trying to forget it at the bottom of a bottle in a few hours. For now his awareness of the universe is reduced to two sweaty bodies, to a pair of brothers who don’t have anyone else. To filling up little Sammy with his come because the kid had served himself up on a silver fucking platter and at least they’ll meet each other in Hell.

“You moan like a whore,” he whispers before wrapping his hand around Sam’s cock and stroking him to completion. Sam pants and moans underneath him and Dean doesn’t move, lingers where he is because the feeling of his brother’s ass clenching around him in the throes of orgasm is something he wouldn’t give up for his life.

Sam’s too young to know the words that fall from his mouth as he comes down, and Dean’s too good a person to be here to begin with. But then, loneliness can do a number on a person. It just so happens that this number has legs for miles and bubblegum-pink lips.

Dean figures he’s got two hours before the guilt hits him, and wonders idly while he pulls out and plays with Sam’s loose, sloppy hole whether or not there are any good bars in town and how they feel about fake IDs.

There’s always a six-pack in the fridge if all else fails, and he wonders if little Sammy is too young to get shitfaced with him, too.

Only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. One-Hundred Twelve: Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You sure this isn’t too big for me?” Sam asks him, sounding skeptical as he looks down at the sleeves that cover his hands. “I think it’s too big.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters. Clothes-sharing?

“You sure this isn’t too big for me?” Sam asks him, sounding skeptical as he looks down at the sleeves that cover his hands. “I think it’s too big.”

“Too big is better than too small.” Dean moves in closer to fiddle with the sweater Sam’s just inherited from him and tries not to stare. “Besides, it’s warm, right? That’s the important part.”

Sam huffs and sighs and generally makes a dramatic show about what a burden this is, and Dean just rolls his eyes and takes in the view. Strictly speaking, he doesn’t  _need_ a new sweater yet; the one he’s got now is just fine. It just so happens that Dean gets a certain amount of enjoyment out of seeing his little brother drowning in his clothes, and he doesn’t really want to analyze it any further than that.

“I’m gonna get bigger than you,” Sam tells him, and Dean grins. “Then you’ll be getting all the hand-me-downs.”

Dean laughs, reaching out to muss his brother’s hair playfully. “Yeah, alright,” he says, the amusement in his voice just making Sam pout at him. “Whatever you say, buddy.”

Maybe one day. For now, Dean’ll take his simple pleasures as they come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. One-Hundred Thirteen: Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re early,” Jessica says, tilting her head a little bit. “You… you’re not supposed to be here for a long while, Sam. What’d you do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between 2.21 and 2.22. Sam dies and goes to heaven.

The apartment is dark, quiet but for the sound of the shower running in the next room. Clothes strewn haphazardly over furniture, a scattering of art supplies, and  _books._ Books everywhere he can see, in stacks and on shelves and piled on the floor. The homey scent of fresh cookies wafts from the table, a plate that’s paired with a cheerful little note playing the star of this scene.

Of course he knows where he is. There’s no way Sam could ever forget this night with how it’s been seared so completely into his memory. He feels like he’s dreaming; it wouldn’t be the first nightmare he’s had about losing Jessica, and he’s sure it won’t be the last, either. For once, though, he seems to be in control here- he’s not riding the pre-determined tracks of how this scene is supposed to play out, and the realization catches him off-guard, takes him a few seconds to get used to.

So he takes a deep breath and braces himself and starts forward, all the same.

It’s been two years, and he still remembers how the damn cookie tasted. Jess always loved experimenting, especially with trying to ease him into something at least loosely resembling her vegan diet- sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t- but the cookies- maybe his memory is rose-tinted but he could’ve sworn it was delicious. Could’ve sworn it was real butter and everything, real chocolate, and he’d just been able to think about telling her how much he’d enjoyed it once she got out of the shower…

Sam doesn’t even realize that the water’s turned off, tearing up over some fucking baked goods with his fingertips hovering over the little note-  _Missed you! Love you!;_ she’d always been pretty heavy-handed with exclamation points in her writing and that thought shouldn’t twist his heart the way it does- but then the bathroom door opens and he goes completely still.

This isn’t part of the script.

She’s beautiful. She’s always been so fucking beautiful and it’s almost hard to look at her now, hair braided loose and still wet from her shower, wearing one of his flannels over a pair of panties and not a whole lot else. She looks sleepy and content and not all that surprised to see him.

“You’re early,” Jessica says, tilting her head a little bit. “You… you’re not supposed to be here for a long while, Sam. What’d you do?”

Sam doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to speak quite yet even if he did. He doesn’t make a conscious decision to move towards her but suddenly he’s crossing the floor anyways, four long steps until she’s close enough to touch. He keeps his hands to himself because he’s afraid that she isn’t real.

She certainly looks real. Her eyes are just the same, soft and concerned now as they flit over his face. “You went and got hurt, didn’t you? You promised you’d be careful.”

Sam lets his lips part, just slightly, as she reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes, and she’s solid. She’s  _here_ , and he doesn’t know  _why._ “What happened?”

“I think it’ll be easier if you just remember on your own, babe.”

He wants to protest because he’s too deeply confused to be playing any games, but-

The demon. Ava, Andy, Lily, all dead. Jake, out cold. Bobby, Dean…

He remembers the slow stagger towards his brother and he remembers the terror in Dean’s eyes right before everything goes dark, sharp edges and dull sensation and falling, falling,  _falling-_

Oh.

“I’m dead,” he realizes all at once, and it feels like this should be more of a shock to him. Jessica’s hand is on his cheek and his brother’s out there somewhere by himself and- and he’s  _dead._ “Is this… are we in… I’m dead?”

“That’s what it looks like,” she agrees sadly. “But I wasn’t expecting you for… years, at least. Decades, with any luck. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Sam.”

The part of Sam that was enrolled in PSYC101 thinks he’s still in denial, but most of him is happy to think about absolutely anything else. “You’re here. You’re really- you? You’re okay?”

And she finally smiles, taps him lightly on the cheek. “’Course I am, genius,” she murmurs. “You thought I wouldn’t be able to get on without you around?”

Sam’s not sure what he thought, because when it comes to her, it’s always been easiest not to think at all. “I’m sorry,” is what tumbles out next, and he doesn’t even know where to begin to explain it. For what he should be apologizing. Everything, maybe. “I don’t… I’m sorry, Jess.”

It earns him a sigh, and her hand drops down only to find his, their fingers fitting together as easily as they had the day he’d left school in the first place. “Look, you… you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, okay? ‘Cept maybe that you didn’t call me while you were gone, ass.” But she smiles and the words are soft at the edges as she squeezes his hands. “Look, I’ve got… I’ve got a weird feeling about all this, so how ‘bout we just enjoy it while we’ve got the chance, okay?”

Sam doesn’t have it in him to think about anything besides Jessica right this second. He pushes the real world and the demon and his brother and Jake to the farthest back corner of his mind, because he’s dead. He’s dead, and there’s nothing he can do besides exist here in this place- whatever this place may be- and figure out what’s going on and how long he gets to enjoy Jessica’s company. “Yeah. Okay, Jess.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She’s smiling again and stretches up on her tiptoes, and then they’re kissing and it feels like everything’s okay. Like the fire didn’t happen and maybe they can just be happy together this time without his past coming back to haunt him in the worst way possible. Maybe this is their second chance.

“Love you,” he mumbles, because he can’t remember the last time he said the words and it hurts to even think about. She smiles against his lips and he thinks that maybe this could work.

He thinks that maybe for now, he can pretend that this is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. One-Hundred Fourteen: Writing Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ink bleeds out around the period as he lingers there for a few seconds. His own handwriting is even harder to follow than most shit, so he figures his only choice is to move on. Maybe he’ll just burn the damn thing when he’s done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little post-Swan Song thing. Mentions of Dean and Lisa, but mostly just Dean and. Sadness.
> 
> Kind of inspired by Dead Space 3. That's where the quote at the end came from: "people want things they can fix, and I'm just permanently broken."

The pen trembles every time he tries to put it to the paper, and eventually Dean has to close his eyes. He’s never been good at this shit; everything involved in writing about his  _feelings_ is out of his comfort zone, but Lisa’s convinced that it’ll help him sleep better at night. Scribble down whatever makes its way out of his fucked up head, and he’ll stop having nightmares and maybe even be able to get the image of his brother throwing himself into Hell scraped off the backs of his eyelids, if he’s lucky.

It’s a load of shit, but she barely looks him in the eye anymore and even Ben is starting to get scared, and something is better than nothing.

_Hi._

The ink bleeds out around the period as he lingers there for a few seconds. His own handwriting is even harder to follow than most shit, so he figures his only choice is to move on. Maybe he’ll just burn the damn thing when he’s done.

_I don’t know why I’m doing this. I mean, I’m doing it for Lis, but… fuck, this is stupid._

Dean stops to rub at his forehead. There’s no way he’s going to get through anything resembling coherency. He’s thinking too much and tries to turn it off.

_I’m doing it because I’m all fucked up. My head’s not on right anymore. Guess it’s hard to just go back to normal after losing someone, huh?_

_Losing everyone. almost. Everything. Cas, Bobby, the car. Don’t have any of it anymore._

There’s a big empty spot at the top of the list and Dean pretends like he can’t taste his heart at the back of his throat. Can’t even say the damn name; three stupid letter he won’t be able to write down, either.

_Course I haven’t stopped trying. Drives Lisa crazy, all the old books I lug home. I keep telling her it’s just a hobby, but I think she knows. Sees right through whatever bullshit I try to give her. Don’t know if I like that or not._

_I don’t know what I’m doing here. Fuckin’ suburbia, going to barbecues and making an honest living. All I’m missing is the white picket fence._ _I hate it, sometimes, and I think Lisa can tell._

_I don’t know what to say to her, though. Keeps acting like I’ll get better one day. Like she’s just waiting for my head to start working right, or for the week I don’t wake up crying or screaming. When I don’t go after the neighbour’s cat because it sounds too much like a restless spirit._

_She shouldn’t have taken me in. There’s no good way this can end, and if…_

_…if I manage to fix this… if I can save Sa_

_She isn’t gonna want me around for much longer. People want things they can fix, and I’m just permanently broken._

It goes up in flames in the kitchen sink, sprinkled with table salt for good measure. Dean still has his nightmares and he doesn’t try writing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. One-Hundred Fifteen: Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is humming when Sam makes it through the door, dancing along the tune of his favourite lullaby and stroking his mother’s hair tenderly out of her eyes. She’s beautiful in death as she had been in like, quiet and serene now in the bliss of eternity.
> 
> His pretend little brother, a fantasy made up by the kind of monster Dean isn’t, is everything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dark!Dean djinnverse. Character death. Murder. Implied Wincest...?

Dean is humming when Sam makes it through the door, dancing along the tune of his favourite lullaby and stroking his mother’s hair tenderly out of her eyes. She’s beautiful in death as she had been in like, quiet and serene now in the bliss of eternity.

His pretend little brother, a fantasy made up by the kind of monster Dean isn’t, is everything but.

The door crashes against the wall when it’s thrown open, and he can hear Sam shouting, looking for him as well as their mother. Dean stays where he is, finishing up the song and leaning in to brush a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll keep you safe,” he tells her softly, and that’s when they’re found.

“Dean, what- what the fuck happened? Mom?” Sam sounds terrified, nearly trips over himself on the way over. Dean doesn’t look at him, so he imagines it’s when his brother makes the connection between the blood on Mary’s skin and the matching crimson smears on Dean’s fingers that he realizes what’s going on. “Dean.”

“She’s so pretty like this,” he says. “Happy. Quiet… she’s beautiful, Sammy. Can’t you see?”

“Dean,” Sam whispers, and his voice trembles. “What… what did you  _do?”_

So Dean tells him the truth.

“None of this is real.” His thumb sweeps over the arch of his mother’s cheekbone, and he hears Sam make a noise that’s like a whimper. “The house. The town, the job. Mom isn’t real. Carmen wasn’t real, either.”

“Carmen-?”

“And, Sam…” Dean pauses, finally turning to look up at his brother. Sam looks shell-shocked, pale and trembling like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “I don’t think you’re real, either, baby brother. Not the way you’re s’posed to be.”

Sam doesn’t fight back but for a few sloppy swings. He doesn’t know how in this world where he’s just a law student, after all, and he has neither Dean’s skill nor his stamina.

He’s always liked Sammy clean; soft and pale like life-sized porcelain. Dean doesn’t bruise his pretty neck, and he doesn’t stain his skin with slashes of crimson. He steals his brother’s breath away from him, smothers the life out of his precious baby boy with his own two hands, leaving him still and pristine and beautiful.

Sam doesn’t have any colour in this world, and Dean thinks it’s best for things to stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. One-Hundred Sixteen: Doughnut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam sounds like he just about chokes on his own tongue with how hard he’s laughing, and his cock bobs as he shakes with it, smacking into Dean’s cheek and smearing raspberry jelly across freckled skin. “Man, I told you it wasn’t gonna last if you just jammed it on there-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the closest thing to crack fic I've ever written.
> 
> Um... Wincest. Explicit. There's a doughnut involved.

The filling is slick against Dean’s lips, tart with its sweetness as he opens his mouth enough to tease some suction along the full length of heated flesh. Reaching the base, he nibbles at tender dough, icing sugar melting at the tip of his tongue and bringing a moan up from the back of his throat.

He laps up bits and pieces as he goes, the pastry going down easy with the faint hint of salty musk that lingers underneath. He’s humming, soft little sounds of pleasure and contentment as he works, and he presses up into the fingers that brush through his hair before leaning in again and-

“Shit- fuck, come back!” Dean swears as the doughnut falls apart, barely managing to grab for a couple big pieces of it as they drop towards the floor. “Doughnut, no!”

Sam sounds like he just about chokes on his own tongue with how hard he’s laughing, and his cock bobs as he shakes with it, smacking into Dean’s cheek and smearing raspberry jelly across freckled skin. “Man, I told you it wasn’t gonna last if you just jammed it on there-”

“This isn’t the time for doughnut puns!” Dean exclaims, leaning down with the rescued doughnut bits cupped in his hands as he stares down the ones already on the floor. Does the five-second rule apply to skeevy motel rooms? “It’s not my fault you’ve got a giant dick!”

“Never heard you complain about it before,” Sam replies dryly. Dean gathers the clean pieces in one hand and picks up the dirty ones in the other. “It’s not like there was a hole to begin with, genius.”

“Shut up.”

After a moment of contemplation, Dean starts nibbling at the clean pieces of doughnuts, giving Sam’s dick a sideways glance where it hangs beside him. Sam’s still on the edge of the bed, legs spread, Dean nestled between them. “Bet that jelly’ still good, though.”

“That mean you’re gonna finish my blowjob?”

Dean licks some icing finger off the tips of his fingers and thinks about that. “In a minute. Snack break.”

Sam mutters something about him being completely unbelievable and Dean just grins wider. Nothing wrong with a little experimentation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. One-Hundred Seventeen: Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is Friday. Today, Sam’s class is talking about family. Specifically, they are talking about _love_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters and tooth-rotting fluff.

Today is Friday. Today, Sam’s class is talking about family. Specifically, they are talking about  _love._

“Love is what you feel for your family,” his teacher tells them all as she draws a heart on the board in pink chalk. “And it’s what your mommy feels for your daddy. There are different kinds of love, but today we’ll be talking about the love you feel for your family.” She turns back to them, then, and smiles. “Who wants to tell me the last person who told them they loved them?”

And Sammy shoots his arm straight up in the air, faster than the other kids. “My big brother!”

His teacher smiles at him and praises him and moves onto another kid, and Sammy takes a moment to think. Without a doubt, Dean loves him, but when was the last time he’d said the words?

Dean fed him dinner last night. Dean tucked him in, and sang to him when he said he was scared of the creaky trees outside. Dean walked him to school this morning and held his hand when they crossed the road, and even gave him a piggyback over some puddles ‘cause Sammy’s rain boots don’t fit him anymore. Dean got Sammy his Lucky Charms this morning, poured his milk just right, and made sure he wasn’t late for attendance before going off to his own class.

But try as he might, Sammy couldn’t remember Dean saying that he loved him.

“Miss?” he asks a little later, waiting until he can get his teacher’s attention. “Miss, can people love you even if they don’t say it?”

She looks surprised, kinda like she does every day when it’s Dean who drops him off instead of their dad. “Of course they can,” she says after a moment, sounding almost hesitant. “People might not say it all the time, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

He decides that sounds just fine and smiles big so she’ll let him go back to his colouring.

Dean picks him up right at three o’clock, just like always. He smiles and catches Sammy when he runs and jumps into his arms and swings him around before giving him a big hug. “Didja miss me?”

“Lots!” And Sammy clings to him, hugging his big brother tight around his neck and hanging off him like that while Dean waves to his teacher and puts Sammy’s bag on his shoulder and starts carrying the both of them away. “Dean? D’you love me?”

It seems to catch him off-guard, because it takes Dean a second to answer. “Yeah, ‘course I do.”

“But you don’t say it!” Sammy peeks up to look at Dean as best he can from his position. “I love you lots, n’ I say it sometimes.”

“Dad doesn’t say it either.” But Dean’s thinking, now, by the look of him, and he hoists Sammy a little higher in his arms. “Love you, kiddo. Happy?”

Sammy just beams at him, hugging him a little tighter. “Yeah!”

As nice as it is to hear the words, Sammy decides it feels just the same as when Dean puts a bandaid on his boo-boos. It feels warm and fuzzy in a way that only Dean makes him feel, so maybe it doesn’t matter so much if he doesn’t say the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. One-Hundred Eighteen: Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you seeing them right now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU again where Dean has some issues and things may or may not be real.

“Are you seeing them right now?”

It’s always the first question his dad asks when he visits, and Dean looks away. He doesn’t think John really gets it, or that he wants to. He doesn’t understand that this isn’t real life. He doesn’t understand that they should both be out there in the world, fighting monsters, saving people. He doesn’t get it.

“I don’t see things like that,” Dean replies quietly, just like he always does. He fidgets in his seat, fingering the bracelets he’d had to fight to hold onto. “S’mostly the dreams. Memories and stuff. You’re a great hunter, Dad.”

That gets him quiet for a few minutes, and the atmosphere is heavy between them. His mom’s usually the one who puts in an effort to keep up conversation, but she couldn’t come in today and so Dean’s left alone to deal with a dad who thinks he’s well and truly insane, even if he never says it out loud.

“Do, you, uh…” Stops to clear his throat, and Dean gives him a dull glance. “Do you still think you have a brother?”

For a moment, Dean tightens all over, anger and grief and balling up under his skin like they want to break free. Like they want him to jump on John and  _make_ him understand, like he can grab his dad and pull him right to wherever Sam’s hiding from him, to point and say  _see? He’s real, Dad, and I’m not crazy!_

Last time he “acted out,” his parents weren’t allowed to see him for a month, and when his mom finally showed up, her eyes had been rimmed with red. Dean doesn’t want to do that to them.

“His name is Sam,” he replies softly, looking away once more. “And you guys fight enough as it is.”

Silence, and Dean closes his eyes. Sometimes it feels like it’s not worth the effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. One-Hundred Nineteen: Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is four years old when he falls in love with his father’s lighter fluid, with the dance of flame on the stovetop when his mother cooks. There’s a hypnotizing sort of wonder to the play of light and shadow when he lights his first match, and he’s swept so far in that when his mother calls his name in anger and fear, he fumbles and burns himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in a pyro!Dean kinda mood and it went to a sad place.

Dean is four years old when he falls in love with his father’s lighter fluid, with the dance of flame on the stovetop when his mother cooks. There’s a hypnotizing sort of wonder to the play of light and shadow when he lights his first match, and he’s swept so far in that when his mother calls his name in anger and fear, he fumbles and burns himself.

He wears the blister like a medal for days, runs soft fingertips over ruined skin and dreams about letting that power take everything. About the crackle of burning wood and the smell of smoke thick in his airways.

In hindsight… in hindsight, he can’t decide whether or not it was an accident.

His momma’s always been pretty, the prettiest lady he’s ever seen, but haloed in fire, she’s ethereal. Dean doesn’t breathe in, doesn’t do anything but watch with dinner-plate eyes and a pounding heart as she screams and cries, as his daddy shoves him out of the room and tells him to run while he goes for little Sammy.

Dean stumbles out of the house, soot-smudged and tiny and  _alone,_ and he turns to watch his house and his family and his everything crumble into nothing, into ashes and smoke and a horrible, choking smell.

Dean doesn’t think the pretty colours on the black canvas of night are really worth it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. One-Hundred Twenty: Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” the pizza guy says with a grin, and Jensen tries not to stare. He’s cute; chestnut-brown hair that curls around his ears and turns up at the ends, a cheerful smile, and a red jacket with the pizza place’s logo on the breast that looks big on him, even though he’s easily over six feet, taller than Jensen. “Medium pepperoni?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever get flustered by a really cute pizza delivery guy and then instead of giving them a reasonable tip, you hand them like an extra $20 by accident??? yeah.

It’s been twenty-eight minutes and Jensen’s looking forward to getting his pizza for free, not to mention actually being able to eat it. He’s starving, kicked back on his couch with the TV playing background noise and his eyes on the door. He’s tapping his fingers as if it’ll help the time pass by more quickly, or perhaps because he’s never sure who’s going to be the one dropping his pizza off and the uncertainty brings with some nerves.

He’s up like a shot when someone knocks on the door, though, scoops his money off the table and moves to answer it. Spares a moment’s thought for his outfit- hopefully the guy isn’t going to judge him for the sweats and t-shirt; he’s taking it easy tonight- before undoing the lock and opening the door.

“Hey,” the pizza guy says with a grin, and Jensen tries not to stare. He’s cute; chestnut-brown hair that curls around his ears and turns up at the ends, a cheerful smile, and a red jacket with the pizza place’s logo on the breast that looks big on him, even though he’s easily over six feet, taller than Jensen. “Medium pepperoni?”

Jensen blinks and makes himself pay attention, offering a smile. “Yeah, uh- hi.”

Pizza guy smiles at him again and opens up the bag he’s carrying, carefully pulling Jensen’s pizza free along with his receipt. He’s got dimples and long fingers and hazel eyes. “That’ll be seventeen-twenty-five.”

There’s a part of Jensen that tries to calculate an appropriate tip, but most of him can’t really think properly right now and just hands over the bills he’s got, managing to smile in return. Pizza guy’s got a name tag, and Jensen takes the chance to look while they make the exchange. “Thanks… Jared?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Jared’s smile only grows and it feels kind of like looking into the sun. He shifts his bag and reaches into it, sifting around inside. “How much change d’you want?”

“No change, it’s fine.” Jensen smiles at him because the longer he stands here watching the guy, the harder it’s getting to think coherently. “Thanks, man.”

There’s surprise written into Jared’s features but he smiles anyways, straightens up and tips his hat a little bit. “Yeah, you got it. Have a nice day!”

“You, too.”

WIth that, Jared turns and heads for the building’s staircase and Jensen closes the door, pizza in hand and feeling a little lightheaded. He realizes later that he’d handed Jared about thirty dollars, but his chest is warm like sunshine smiles and he figures it’s not such a big deal.

He decides after that to start ordering pizza more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. One-Hundred Twenty-One: Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen goes a couple weeks without seeing Jared the pizza guy, and it’s easy to let him fade from memory. When he opens the door one evening to see the kid with a kid with a bandaged nose and dark circles under his eyes and the same bright smile dampened down with exhaustion, though, it all comes back and suddenly he’s overwhelmed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another with Jared the cute pizza boy. Loosely based on... real life.

Jensen goes a couple weeks without seeing Jared the pizza guy, and it’s easy to let him fade from memory. When he opens the door one evening to see the kid with a kid with a bandaged nose and dark circles under his eyes and the same bright smile dampened down with exhaustion, though, it all comes back and suddenly he’s overwhelmed again.

“What happened?” is the first thing out of his mouth, interrupting Jared’s half-formed greeting, and he immediately feels like an asshole. “Uh- sorry, I mean, just… your nose-?”

Jared blinks, then smiles a little bigger, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Uh- I got hit,” he says, sounding entirely too sheepish about it. “Just a stupid fight. Doc said I’ll be healed up in a couple weeks, so it’s not a big deal.”

They’re both quiet for a moment while Jensen stares and worries about this guy he doesn’t know and Jared just lets him, doesn’t say a damn word about the weirdo who still hasn’t asked for his pizza. Jensen remembers a moment later, though, blinks himself back into focus and reaches for his (pre-counted, this time) money. “Sorry, uh… here.”

Jared hums and they trade off, Jensen setting the pizzas aside for the moment. “D’you need change?”

There’s something knowing in his eyes that has Jensen coughing to hide a laugh, and it’s his turn to be sheepish. “No, s’all there. Should be good. Thanks.”

“Yeah, you got it.” Another smile, and they’re both quiet for a moment again, shuffling in place, neither ready to separate quite yet. “So… you know my name.”

“Yeah.” Jensen nods, gesturing vaguely to the lopsided nametag he’s still wearing. “Um… I’m Jensen, by the way. So we’re even, now.”

“Guess so.” Jared smiles one more time before closing up his bag, straightening up. “I should get going. Couple more deliveries to make.”

“Make sure you sleep well tonight,” Jensen says without really meaning to, and his face warms when it earns him an odd look. “Just… you look tired. You probably need it.”

It should sound weird and maybe insulting, but Jared looks happy enough and Jensen figures he hasn’t fucked up too bad. “Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jensen.”

His name sounds good coming out of Jared’s mouth, and when they finally part and Jensen wanders back inside to eat his pizza, he’s left replaying it in his head over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
